


First Coffee THEN Counseling

by fabricdragon



Series: John Watson: Reluctant Therapist [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Again, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Counseling, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Insecurity, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidnapped John, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Problems, Relationship(s), mormor, ptsd Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-12-30 06:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12102885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: John Watson is kidnapped by Moriarty... again... after all it worked out last time!a sequel to "Dishes"





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was going to be busy at the lab all night at this rate, so John slipped out to go get some coffee. He didn’t really understand what was going on in this case, but Sherlock thought it was fascinating–which meant less likelihood of bullet holes in the wall.

He was just getting to the coffee when an intern came up, “Doctor Watson?”

“Yes?”

“I was asked to come get you–there’s a patient who’s asking for you.” He said quietly, “Trauma case.”

John turned and went with him immediately. “What kind of trauma, can you give me the vitals?”

“No clue, I was just sent off to get you.”

John balked when they took a wrong turn, “This isn’t–”

The intern moved aside the scrubs enough to reveal a pistol. “Orders say to get YOU in good shape, nothing about anyone else.”

John froze, considering how many civilians were in the line of fire even if he took the man down… “Alright… Where are we going?”

“Back exit. Keep moving.”

John tried to keep a neutral look on his face but couldn’t help but mutter, “You could have at least let me get my coffee.” The man startled and gave him a very odd look.

There was a van, along with three very capable-looking combatants, waiting at the door. John was expertly frisked and put in the van. The van was already pulling away when one of them zip-tied his ankles and told him to put his hands behind his back. He felt something soft get pulled over his hands and tried to twist to look without thinking; John expected to get hit, but all that happened was a bag was dropped over his head. Whatever the soft things were, they padded the zip ties on his wrists… He was pushed down to lie on his side and two of the men braced him to avoid the turns and bumps rattling him around.

 _They were taking a LOT of care not to damage me…_ John wasn’t at all sure this was a good thing.

He was hauled out of the van, put carefully in the back of a car, and told to stay still by one of the men. He was buckled in and then the car took off. After a short time of a lot of twists and turns, they started driving more normally and then eventually the car was parked. The door opened and someone cut the zip ties on his ankles, pressed a gun into his side, and took him out of the car. _Whoever this was, they were much smaller than the guards and their shoes sounded like dress shoes._ Then he was taken someplace with expensive carpeting; he was led down a flight of stairs–the man with the pistol knew what he was doing and John went down the stairs very carefully; a heavy door opened; and finally he was put into a chair.

“I appreciate the cooperation, Johnny Boy, but you can talk now.” Moriarty’s familiar voice came from the direction of the gun. _Smaller; dress shoes–of course._ John honestly didn’t know whether to feel safer or to panic.

“Any chance of getting the hood off?” he asked cautiously. “Or that coffee I was going to get when I was kidnapped?”

“In a minute…”

John had just a chance to hear a clanking noise and then a collar was locked around his neck: it wasn’t tight, but it felt cold and metallic. There was a weight pulling it off to one side– _chain, probably._ And then the zip tie on his wrist was cut. Moving slowly and telegraphing every motion, he pulled his hands to the front and felt at the soft coverings; he pulled them off and then carefully removed the hood.

The first thing he noticed was that Moriarty looked distressed. As an aside, he noted that what he had had on his hands appeared to be fuzzy socks.

“O-kay…” John was watching the pistol warily as Moriarty had started pacing and waving with it idly, and didn’t show any sign of understanding muzzle safety. “Can… you put the gun down now?”

Moriarty looked down as if he’d just remembered it was there. “Oh.” He flipped the safety on and tucked it into a very good concealed holster–then he dragged his hand through his hair.

“I really must have needed that coffee,” John said as the obvious suddenly clicked into place. “What happened with Sebastian?”

“I don’t KNOW! He won’t talk to me! He’s vanishing and I don’t know who he’s seeing but he’s ducking me! I think he found someone else…” Moriarty collapsed against a wall and was obviously trying not to cry.

John risked a look around at the surroundings: concrete floor with a drain; old blood stains; lots of places to attach chains; a locked metal cabinet; a heavy metal table–and the incongruously comfortable chair he was sitting on.

“I think I preferred the kitchen…” John said as the full impact of the room hit him.

“This was just the house he’s SUPPOSED to come back to tonight,” Moriarty said as he raked his hand through his hair again, “assuming he comes back…”

“If you want my help, I need you to talk to me…”

“I AM TALKING TO YOU!”

“… and not scream at me.”

Moriarty grumbled and paced some more; he finally mumbled something that might have been “Sorry.”

“I was on my way to get coffee when I was picked up, and once the adrenaline comes down I am REALLY going to need it–can I get something with some caffeine? And maybe a small table to put a cup down on?” John sighed, “And then hopefully you’ll have settled enough to tell me what you think is going on?”

“He’s leaving me.” Moriarty sounded utterly resigned. “I knew he would find someone else, I just don’t know how to stop him when I don’t know who to shoot…”

“If he hasn’t told you he’s leaving, he probably isn’t,” John said soothingly. “You have a lot of…”–John searched for words that would be less likely to set the man off–“past bad experiences, and I bet you’re projecting, just like I did a lot.”

“I’ll go get coffee,” Moriarty said suddenly and walked out.

Once he was gone, John went back to looking at his situation: solid metal collar with a heavy lock attached to a heavy chain that went to a ring on the wall–too short to get him near the door out or the metal cabinet. The only thing distinctly out of place for what was clearly an interrogation and murder room was the very comfortable chair he was in.

After a bit, a MUCH heavier set of footsteps came down the stairs. The door opened to reveal Sebastian– _at least I THINK it’s Sebastian: it was a bit hard to tell with the man he had slung over his shoulder._

“Hi?” John said cautiously.

Sebastian– _and yes, it was Sebastian_ –dropped the man to the floor: John heard the pained noise even past the gag.

“Doc?” Sebastian was staring at him with wide-eyed shock. The doctor in John noted the dark circles under his eyes, the tension lines, and the fact that his hands weren’t as steady as they had been last time. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Counseling, apparently,” John sighed.

Sebastian groaned and dragged a hand through his hair in the same gesture Moriarty used. _I wonder which one of them picked it up from the other._ The man on the floor was bound hand and foot–and a few other places–with duct tape; gagged and then duct tape put over the gag; and blindfolded with duct tape as well. John resolved to thank Moriarty again for being a bit more gracious in his kidnapping.

 _Speaking of which…_ There was a clattering noise accompanied by lighter footsteps. Moriarty came into the room carrying a bag that looked remarkably like something a college student would carry, and a folding table.

“Sebie?” John could see the relief on his face. “Oh good, you’re here.”

“Where else would I be? You sent me out to get this guy and…” Sebastian groaned, “What’s going on?”

“He wanted coffee.”

“I was kidnapped just as I was getting my coffee and the adrenaline is wearing off–anyone have any headache meds? And… uh…” he waved at the man on the ground, “What’s with him?”

“He stole a few million from me and I asked Sebie to pick him up–nothing important.”

“I thought we had to find out where the money went?!” Sebastian was now leaning on a wall rubbing his eyes.

“Well, it would be nice…” Moriarty looked thoughtfully at the fellow. “Can you… I dunno… shove him in a bathroom or something?

John sighed. “How about if you put HIM in the collar and let ME go to the bathroom?”

“Jim…” Sebastian sighed. “Did you honestly just kidnap the Doc to talk to him?”

“Err… yes?”

John looked tiredly at Sebastian, “It was a very pleasant kidnapping, as such things go–I was especially happy not to be drugged or hit over the head–but… I really would like to go to the toilet, and the coffee is a non-negotiable if you expect me to be coherent. Sherlock and I have been up for way too long.” John looked thoughtful, “Speaking of which… Let me call Sherlock.”

Moriarty stared at him, “Are you out of your mind?”

“No. I want BOTH of your words that I will be released unharmed. If I get that, I will call Sherlock and give him a reasonable excuse for my disappearance. If I DON’T call him, you know it’s going to get messy…”

“Well, Sebie will just shoot–” Jim waved at Duct Tape Man.

“What?! You had me go to the trouble of kidnapping him and NOW you just want to shoot him!?”

John stood up and pulled on his command voice, “That’s QUITE enough!” Sebastian went quiet by reflex and jerked almost to attention; Jim mostly shut up out of shock as far as John could tell. “And right here is why we are NOT having this discussion right now.” John looked pointedly at both of them. “If we try to have a difficult discussion when everyone is tired and already stressed it will just go badly.”

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Probably.” Jim didn’t say anything, which John took as agreement.

“Here is my proposal: you don’t do anything with…. Duct Tape Man… until later. Just tie him up down here and leave him with some water and whatever, and you can deal with him in the morning. Meanwhile, I get taken someplace a bit less murder-ish–even if you have to bring the collar along, although I would prefer not–and let me use the bathroom and all, because if you make me piss myself I will be pissed in more senses than one.”

Jim snickered at that, and Sebastian grinned at him.

John continued, “I call Sherlock and let him know I am safe, and IF you two are up to it, I have a brief talk with each of you separately tonight just to find out what you think is going on… but anything further waits until everyone has had some sleep.”

Sebastian looked over at Moriarty, “It sounds reasonable to ME, Jim. If you really have to restrain him, we could cuff him to the wrought iron bed upstairs.”

Jim looked stricken, “That’s our bed!”

“If you two will give me your word that I will be sent home alive, well, and so on… I’ll give you mine that I won’t try to go anywhere but the kitchen or bathroom without discussing it first?”

Jim looked very dubious, but eventually agreed. Everyone exchanged oaths–Jim actually held his hand up for it. John had his collar taken off and put onto Duct Tape Man, and then Jim dragged the chair out of his reach and took John upstairs. The shrieks as duct tape was pulled away from hair cut off abruptly as they went upstairs into a nicely furnished house.

John was shown into a small suite of rooms–with its own bathroom–and told to stay put.

“I have to get a burner phone, Johnny; your phone could be in Croydon by now.”

“Right, totally not suspicious.”

John used the facilities and splashed his face with water and sat back down on the bed. “Well, it beats a concussion…” he sighed, and then, “God help me, I’m getting used to being kidnapped enough that I have opinions on the methods.”

After what he estimated to be fifteen minutes he heard what could be furniture moving around and then both Sebastian and Jim came in. Jim handed him a phone.

“Two minutes or less, and don’t try anything,” Jim grumbled. Sebastian mostly looked tired.

John dialed and got a recording. “Hi, Sherlock ,it’s John. Sorry about–” He was cut off as the line was picked up.

“John? Are you alright!?”

“First of all, I’m alright. I ran into an… old army associate, and they needed my help.”

“This isn’t your phone–can you talk?”

“It’s personal business, Sherlock, and before you say anything, NO, I didn’t run out on you, and NO, I had no idea I would run into them. I would have told you if I could have, but it was an emergency, alright? So don’t worry. I’ll be back as soon as I can… Love you.” He hung up and handed the phone back to Jim.

Sebastian was looking uncomfortable; Jim was staring at him.

“Why would Sherlock think you ran out on him?”

 _Because–what is it you keep saying? He’s you?_ “Because he’s had a lot of bad experiences with people abandoning him one way or the other, and he gets kind of irrational about it,” John said patiently. “Just like I get a bit irrational when people sound angry at me or act dismissive to me.”

“Oh…” Jim chewed on his lip and looked speculative at Sebastian who was beginning to get a horrified look of comprehension.

Sebastian sputtered, “You think I would–”

John walked in between them– _probably not the safest thing to do, but no one had ever accused me of liking safety_ –“Hold it. Remember what I said about tired discussions not being a good idea? You wanted my help? Then here it is: don’t try to discuss this right now. No one is going anywhere tonight, right?”

Jim looked very small suddenly. “Are you… Are you staying?”

John began to get an idea what was going on when Sebastian shot him a panicked look.

“Of course he’s staying,” John said calmly. “He’s staying in here with me to make sure I don’t go anywhere, right?”

Jim looked utterly confused and even more confused when Sebastian hurriedly agreed.

“You gave your word…”

John nodded, “Yes, I did, but, as I’m SURE Sebastian understands, I have PTSD, and waking up in a strange place after being kidnapped? I could do something I regret. Let Sebastian stay in here just for safety’s sake.”

Jim looked horribly confused but after a mournful look at Sebastian he muttered, “Good night,” and walked out.

Sebastian promptly collapsed on the bed. “How’d you know?”

“Sherlock made the mistake of walking in on one of my nightmares, and when I woke up my hands were around his throat…”


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian sagged onto the bed. “I woke up, snapped out of it, whatever… and… I was hitting him.”

John came over and sat down next to him. “Horribly hurt and confused? Or wondering what the fuss was?”

“A weird mix of both. His… his family was really horrible.”

John nodded and offered, “Sherlock didn’t understand the problem at all, was mostly excited that had more data on being choked–so I get it.”

Sebastian closed his eyes in a pained fashion.

“Are you going to get weird about sharing a bed?” John sighed, “I used to, but then I also thought I was straight.”

“Mostly worried I’ll have a nightmare and… hurt someone.”

“Yes, well… It’s a pretty high likelihood for me, especially with being kidnapped.”

“God! Why’d he kidnap you anyway?”

“Tomorrow!” John said firmly.

They each picked a side of the bed and lay down, trying to ignore the other man in the bed until they could fall asleep–and they both woke up abruptly to the sound of something crashing.

They had a momentary issue of the door not fitting two, quickly resolved when the Colonel snapped at the Captain and Medic to stay back, and skidded into the main rooms to find Jim hurling things apparently randomly at walls.

“Oh, shit.” Sebastian dove for cover behind a sofa as a metal object hurtled past him.

“Fuck!” John said after he was flat on the carpet.

Jim was starting to yell, most of it was in languages John didn’t know but bits and pieces were intelligible: “can’t follow simple” and “shoes!” and a few words that shouldn’t have been terrifying like “I’ll have you fucking whisked!” but somehow were.

John low crawled to Sebastian. “Do we try to take him down?”

“Good bloody luck, mate, he’s flexible and vicious.”

A heavy object hurtled into a wall mirror–glass shattered everywhere.

John sighed, “Go get the biggest, strongest blanket you can find.”

Sebastian got a look of dawning comprehension and ran for it; he was back shortly with a bundled blanket.

“Three-two-one…” and they rushed him.

Jim managed to bite Sebastian before they had him wrapped. He was astonishingly flexible–or maybe he didn’t care if he injured himself–but they managed.

“Away from the glass!” John panted and they retreated with a snarling bundle into the bedroom.

Sebastian was holding him down on the bed inside the blanket: all that was visible was a pair of vicious and angry dark eyes under a shock of hair. “Great! Now what?!”

“Lie on him and hold him still while I pull the glass out of your feet,” John said firmly. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

Sebastian gave him directions and John was back momentarily with a full field medical jump bag. He looked questioningly at Sebastian.

“We’ve needed it.”

Sebastian held Jim down and muttered what John presumed were soothing noises, although finding out that “I’ll skin him for you, Jimmy, and we’ll make him into book covers” was soothing was a bit alarming.

Sebastian didn’t react as John pulled slivers of glass out of his feet and cleaned and bandaged him.

“Done. Socks and shoes until everything heals, and keep it clean.”

“Thanks, doc.”

John sat on the side of the bed. “Does he get like this often?”

“Nah.”

“Has he said anything that indicates he recognizes you?”

“He stopped biting me?”

“Well… that’s a start.” John pulled on his clothes and shoes. “I’m going to go clean up a bit and put the kettle on.”

“You… uh… take this calmly.”

“I take everything calmly, right up until I don’t.” John shrugged and went out.

He ran the vacuum and picked up things as best he could, and had finished making coffee and tea–since they had both a tea kettle and a coffee maker he presumed–and was thinking about beans on toast when Sebastian walked in.

“I made caffeine.”

“Bless you,” Sebastian said very sincerely as he went straight for the coffee.

“How is he?”

Sebastian shrugged, “Seems okay, didn’t get cut up or anything, so thanks. I can’t believe I never thought of the blanket idea!”

“I dated a vet,” John said. At Sebastian’s puzzled look he said, “Veterinarian. That’s how you restrain a cat.”

One side of Sebastian’s mouth quirked up. “Oh.”

“I should treat that bite wound too, now that you’re up–people bites are nasty.”

Sebastian just nodded and John got the medic kit and treated it: as he did so, he saw what could only be described as a lot of scars; John didn’t say anything about it. He was just finishing up treating Sebastian when Jim walked in.

Jim was walking with the stiff-backed “nothing at all is wrong ever” walk that John knew from experience. He went straight for the tea. _Ah_.

Sebastian was clearly going to pretend nothing was wrong, so John cleared his throat, “You DO know that you two need to talk about things if you are going to move past these problems?” He added hurriedly, “You don’t need to talk to me, but you need to talk.”

Jim glared murder at him and Sebastian touched his arm, “Don’t even try until after the second cup.”

“Oh, well that makes sense,” John nodded. “Uh… who makes breakfast here? I had no idea what anyone ate?”

Sebastian sighed, “I do… but the boss will live on toast and tea if you let him.” He got up to cook; John followed him.

“Great, so they really ARE alike. Gotcha. Can I help cook? If you make something tempting will he eat it?”

“He doesn’t eat breakfast food much,” Sebastian frowned.

John looked back at Jim, hunched protectively over his tea. “Right. Make up a good breakfast for the two of us; I’ll make something to tempt him into eating.”

Sebastian looked dubious but got out eggs and sausage and an assortment of things and made up breakfast for military men.

While John was cooking they chatted briefly: John was startled to find they had just missed each other a few times in the field; Sebastian was shocked that John had been front lines near Maiwand. Eventually, Sebastian put a plate full of breakfast down for each of them, and John walked over to Jim with a plate. Sebastian watched worriedly.

“Here.” John put down a toasted cheese sandwich, crusts trimmed off and perfectly square, cut diagonally and oozing cheese.

Jim stared at it.

John sat down and dug into the eggs and sausage. “This is good, Colonel.”

“Not a Colonel anymore, but thanks.”

“Still good,” John mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Very slowly, Jim reached out and picked up half the sandwich. Even more slowly, he put it to his mouth and took a bite. He closed his eyes and started chewing intently.

Sebastian froze with his fork halfway to his mouth and stared at that, then looked at John in awe. John pointedly went back to eating. No one said anything else until Sebastian was clearing the dishes away.

“I’ll wash them,” Jim muttered quietly

 _Right, dishes were a flash point_. John stood up. “Actually, how about if I wash them while you two figure out where we can sit down and talk? Someplace with cushions and minimal breakables, I think.”

John set about ignoring them and washing dishes. _I don’t believe this… Yes, I do. I should get a counseling degree, except I have no business counseling anyone. Maybe it’s just that these two are the same brand of crazy as I’m used to? Dear God, when did I decide that…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> counseling... ish  
> (note that John is not a trained therapist and is doing his best. also PTSD sucks, i have it. however his opinions (and mine) are not peer reviewed.)

“Ok…” John took a deep breath and looked around: everything breakable moved out of range; lots of pillows, tissues…

“Now, since I’m not actually a trained counselor–and I get the feeling some of this is going to hit pretty close to home for me, too–this is a lot more like a support group.”

“Right,” Sebastian said, and then to Jim, “Why the fuck did you kidnap him?”

“He helped last time,” Jim mumbled.

“Just for the record? You CAN actually, you know… ask?”

Jim looked dubious, “Why would you show up?”

“Because I’m a masochist?” John muttered–apparently too loudly since Jim snickered. “Because I like to help people, and I don’t like being kidnapped very much. Also, if I vanish with no warning Sherlock will either,” he ticked off on his fingers, “not even notice–and I’ll get upset–or panic and start assuming that I’ve been kidnapped by someone to get at him.”

“About that,” Sebastian looked dubious. “How long is he likely to hold off looking for you?”

Jim spoke up, “Oh, he’s already gone through all the hospital cameras.”

John nodded, “Of course he has, but at least he knows that *I* think I’m safe, so he’s only fretting and working at a puzzle, not panicking and–” John closed his mouth.

“Calling in Big Brother?” Jim shrugged, “Yeah, better avoided.”

John decided that staying on topic was to be desired.“So, Jim… you said you thought Sebastian was leaving you?”

“WHAT?!” Sebastian stared at the two of them as he sat bolt upright. “Oh no… No… I… Jimmy? You couldn’t possibly think I would…”

John sighed, “I mentioned Sherlock had abandonment issues, and that’s private information! But I mentioned it because I think Jim does, too.”

“We’re the same,” Jim muttered. “I said that.”

“Jim, boss… the only way you get rid of me is if you shoot me… you know that!” Sebastian went over and hugged him–it was surprisingly sweet looking. “And you’re a lousy shot, honey.”

“I am not!” Jim protested. “Just… compared to you.”

“Ookay…” John took a deep breath, “It’s obvious you two care about each other: I could tell that the LAST time I got kidnapped–have I said thank you for not giving me a concussion or drugging me?” John shook his head, “But the problem here is that Sebastian… well, he’s got a few things in common with me–in addition to living with a crazed genius.”

Sebastian tensed but didn’t let go of Jim: Jim was looking suspicious. “A taste in random women?”

John blinked a lot, “No clue about that... I meant the PTSD and anxiety attacks.”

“Oh… yeah… wait… you?” Jim frowned.

John gritted his teeth, “Among other things, I now have them from swimming pools and blue tooth ear pieces, yeah.”

Jim blinked a lot, “But you weren’t hurt!”

John stood up with his fists clenched. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He got in there and resisted the urge to punch anything. After splashing a lot of water on his face and doing his breathing exercises, he came back. There was tea.

“Thank you,” John said calmly taking the tea. It was exactly how he liked it: he didn’t ask.

“Now, before we go on I need to point out what experts have said about PTSD. Understand that there is still a lot of argument, but a great deal of PTSD doesn’t have to do with how much pain you were in–it has to do with how helpless you were.” John sipped his tea. “While extremes of violence and pain and injury are more likely to cause issues, people can–do–get PTSD from threatening situations, especially if they feel helpless.” John put the tea cup down before he spilled it, “And of course a threat to loved ones is often even worse.”

Jim was blinking at him a lot. “Seriously?”

“Yes. If you were helpless and unable to do anything, and under threat–a threat that was serious and very dangerous as an example, while someone threatened Sebastian? And he couldn’t get away? Maybe wouldn’t get away because he was trying to save you?”

Sebastian looked rather unhappy but Jim was frowning. “Hang on…” and he went blank: it looked JUST like Sherlock off in his mind palace.

John raised an eyebrow, “Does he do–” he cut off because Sebastian rather frantically grabbed a blanket and looked like he was… preparing to wrap the man up?

Jim came up wide eyed and panting suddenly–he looked like Jim from IT had just been mugged.

“Jimmy? Sir?”

Jim grabbed him and started patting him over frantically. “We are leaving England, Sebie… I won’t let him get at you…”

“Woah, woah… what?” John felt that peculiar mental whiplash that Sherlock sometimes induced.

“Jim, it’s okay… nothing actually happened you were just… thinking…” Sebastian pressed up against him and held a tea cup up for him. They were muttering at each other and John tried his best not to listen, but the word “Mycroft” was rather distinctive.

John decided that the only thing he could do was drink more tea. _Sigh._

Eventually Jim was looking calmer and Sebastian wasn’t looking so jumpy and they both noticed that John was still there.

“So I have no clue what that was all about–but I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen and go on,” John nodded decisively. “Correct me if I get this wrong, but Sebastian had a panic attack or PTSD episode and as he said he ‘woke up’ and found himself hitting Jim. Sebastian then panics at the idea that he might hurt or kill Jim waking up from a nightmare or something, and essentially stops sleeping.” He looked at Sebastian, “Correct?”

“Basically,” Sebastian grumbled.

“Jim only knows that Sebastian isn’t coming to bed and is staying out a lot on longer and longer ‘business trips’, and–since he has issues of his own–he assumes Sebastian has found someone else.”

Sebastian groaned and scrubbed at his face. Jim mostly wrapped his arms around himself in an angry looking fashion and glowered.

“And since he, as he put it, didn’t know who to shoot–he kidnapped me.”

“Jim! For Chissakes, Jim…. You let me HIT you… I was just trying to protect you!”

“It wasn’t serious…” Jim muttered and then slid his eyes to the side. “You… aren’t leaving? You were upset about… hitting me?”

Sebastian closed his eyes, “I feel like smacking the shit out of you for thinking that… and you KNOW I can’t stand that!”

John sighed, “So we were separated at birth you say? Right, I’ll give you a few more books on dealing with anger management and abuse issues.” John started writing things down. “In the meantime, I suggest you work on finding out what triggers it–in my case I have to avoid alcohol and certain other things.”

“Why wouldn’t you just TELL me, Sebie?!”

“Because you didn’t CARE! You wouldn’t take it seriously… I tried to tell you!”

“It barely hurt!”

“I BROKE one of your RIBS!”

“Cracked,” Jim muttered. “I’m hardly going to slow down over that.”

“Aaaand time!” John said using referee signals. “Before we get into a whole different problem, can we work on the fact that Jim thought Sebastian was leaving him because Jim has abandonment issues,… and Sebastian was afraid he was going to hurt Jim because he DID when he had a PTSD incident?”

Jim muttered.

“No one is actually interested in leaving, right?” John was feeling his own interest in punching something coming up–somehow he didn’t think Jim would overlook it if he cracked his rib.

“NO! Never!” Sebastian shook his head hard enough to make John’s neck hurt.

Jim snorted, “No, of course not.”

“Good. Then I say we take a break before we move on to the communication issues… and does anyone have any headache medication? Because I need it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mentions of various problems like eating disorders and domestic abuse.... as a reminder none of these three are professional therapists

John was lying down until the headache medication kicked in when he had something land on his stomach.

“Wrrr?” He saw Jim walking away and looked down to find a phone. _Huh._ He dialed Sherlock.

“John?” Sherlock answered on the second ring.

“Hey.” John smiled tiredly, “I know you. So what did you find on the hospital cameras?”

Sherlock’s voice relaxed a bit on hearing the code, but answered, “Absolutely nothing–which is insanely frustrating. The video loops as you went to get coffee and I have no idea what happened.”

“I’m okay. Really. Just… it’s complicated.”

He could almost hear Sherlock chewing his lip. “Do you need me to–”

“Nope, no, not, uh-uh.” John shook his head. “Just… please actually eat or drink something? Please? If I get home and the first thing I have to do is run an IV because you–”

“You have yet to have to do so, no matter how much you talk about it.” Sherlock sounded huffy.

“I have to go, but I’m fine as long as I know you’re fine, okay? Love you.”

He hung up the phone and lay back with a sigh.

“Doesn’t eat?” Sebastian’s voice was a rumble behind him.

“Digesting slows his thinking. He doesn’t eat on a case–me being missing is a case.”

“That’s… kind of unhealthy, isn’t it?” Sebastian was asking. John thought he heard Jim’s footsteps but he wasn’t about to open his eyes.

“Nooooo… ya think?” John laughed a bit bitterly. “Both Holmeses are fucked up–pardon my language.”

“Both?” Jim’s voice hesitated and continued, “You mean his whole ‘caring is not an advantage’ ice-covered-armor thing?”

“Well, I kind of figured Mycroft was messed up when he thought a good way to introduce himself was to have me taken off to a warehouse and threatened, and then try to bribe me to spy on Sherlock–but I was actually talking about the fact that they both have seriously bad relationships with food.”

He could hear Jim sit down. “They do?”

John cracked open an eyelid enough to see Jim sitting in a chair looking curious and Sebastian going over to rub his shoulders.

“Yeah. Mycroft is fairly thin, but he’s always on a diet or going for sweets, and Sherlock pokes him about his weight and diet all the time; Sherlock skips meals and won’t eat if anything goes wrong, or he’s on a case, or he’s upset, or… almost any excuse, really.”

“Hmmm. That does sound… problematic.”

“And Sherlock stores body parts in the fridge, microwave, and where they contaminate the food–if he even bothers to buy food. And for someone who studied decay so much, he seems unable to keep the milk from going bad, or clean out the fridge. I’m not a psychologist but I think they both have food issues.”

Jim’s voice had that faintly distant tone that John associated with problem solving and research, “It also might explain both of them smoking: appetite suppressant, after all…”

“They both do?” John thought about it. “Ok, yes, I thought I smelled it on Mycroft. I guess I assumed it was second-hand.”

“They both smoke, or use patches,” Sebastian said calmly. “It’s one of the few times Mycroft puts himself in position for sniper fire–not great position, mind you, but better than usual.”

“Can I ask the two of you to please not–”

“I make no guarantees about big brother,” Jim cut in, “but I haven’t bothered Sherly-locks in a while, have I?”

John considered: _No, he had stopped abruptly… after the first time I was kidnapped. Oh._ “For which I am quite grateful, really.” John sat up reluctantly. “Now… I think it’s pretty obvious that both of you need to talk to REAL counselors–and not kidnap them.”

Jim frowned, “Told you–it would get right back to Nosy McNosybrother.”

“And as I said, I understand that,” John nodded. “But there HAS to be some way for the two of you to get real counseling? I mean the books I’m suggesting are good, but…”

Sebastian sighed, “Like we could tell a real counselor about our lives? Mate, they’d lock us both up for delusional–and that’s just for the recent stuff.”

“Okay, I will admit that’s been an issue in even blogging about my life with Sherlock.” John put his head in his hands for a minute and then straightened up. “Right. Well, you can work on things with books and anonymous online support groups… and maybe go talk to some people out of the country about specific stuff? Like family issues?”

Jim nodded slowly. “That… might work, I guess.”

“All of my counselors suggested journaling…”

“Security issue,” Sebastian said firmly.

“Try to find some way to journal, even if its collage? You know… tear out pictures and paste together and whatever and think about what it means to you?”

“Do YOU do that?” Sebastian snorted.

John raised an eyebrow, “No, instead of private journaling I write a public blog in which my readers told me I was in love with Sherlock before I knew… and I’ve been through six counselors since I got back from the military–two of whom were incompetent and one of whom reported directly to Mycroft and wasn’t even subtle.”

Jim winced, “Ouch?”

“Also, there are days I legitimately want to throttle Sherlock, and I almost always want to punch Mycroft. I have major anger management issues, PTSD, anxiety, and an alcohol problem.” John shrugged. “I’m working on it.”

“You… uh… seem to have it together?” Sebastian said, glancing at Jim.

“Because I’m working on it.” John sighed. “Bottling it all up and pretending everything is fine may get you through something in the short run, but in the long run it will kill you.” He scrubbed at the headache, which was a bit better but not gone. “That, and honesty. Like most people, I tend to censor my opinions, and… oddly living with Sherlock who doesn’t? He needed to learn empathy and tact, and I needed to learn to be more honest about things.”

Jim smirked, “Sounds like a good match, but from what I heard it was fairly explosive at first.”

“DON’T even joke about explosives? Not you.” He took a breath, “Yes, it turned out to be good for both of us. Oddly, Sherlock was never very honest about himself.”

Jim blinked a lot. “What do you mean? I thought he just blurted things out? Like being a sociopath…”

“Oh… no, that’s a great example.” John nodded. “High functioning sociopath? Bullshit! He just put a layer of ice and incivility over his emotions. He might be autistic, but that’s a separate question.” John warmed to the topic. “He learned early on that showing emotions–caring about things–got you hurt, so he started to pretend he didn’t–”

Jim got up and left.

John blinked. Very slowly he looked at Sebastian who was looking after Jim and looking back at John.

“Go on after him. Didn’t I say I wasn’t going anywhere?”

Sebastian looked relieved and took off after Jim.

John wondered exactly how you wrote this up as “life experience” toward getting a counseling degree.

After a while, John rummaged around in the cabinets and started setting up for food. Luckily, Sebastian and Jim came back before he did anything like destroy one of these really strange pans or something.

“I have no idea what some of this is…”

Jim muttered, “We’ll order in.”

“Right.”

So they looked over take-out menus–and John couldn’t help but look at the addresses and calculate the delivery radius even if he tried not to–and they ordered and it was appallingly, awkwardly quiet until the food arrived.

Mostly they talked about food, but apparently one of the dishes reminded Jim of something because he started talking to Sebastian about some job. John cleared his throat. Jim blinked at him like he’d forgotten he was there or something and switched to another language–which caused Sebastian to roll his eyes and say something back in the same language.

Sebastian went away to deal with it, John supposed.

“You know it bothers him when he hurts you,” John offered hesitantly.

“I wasn’t that hurt.”

“Cracked rib? That’s… Look, it doesn’t even matter. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he did, it upsets him.”

“Him leaving upsets me a helluva lot more,” Jim growled.

“The only way he’s going to be able to work with this is if HE gets some help with his PTSD, and YOU promise him you’ll take it seriously. Whether that’s defending yourself or just being… not just accepting being hurt.”

“Wouldn’t it make it worse if I was yelling at him?”

“Maybe. But… my mom tried to defend herself–maybe his didn’t.” John looked over in the direction he’d gone. “If his mom just… took it? Thought she deserved it? Then you acting that way.”

Jim flinched. “Maybe I do deserve it–I’m the villain in this story, right?” he muttered.

John had a bit of an issue that he did in fact think Jim would deserve being punched very, very hard. _What the hell–honesty._

“You deserve having ME break your rib and probably bash your head into the concrete–you don’t deserve having your boyfriend do it.”

A quirky grin crossed Jim’s face. “You are a very strange man.”

“Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jim laughed, “I think I’m starting to like you?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John eventually gets home

John walked up the stairs to 221B with a bemused expression and a cup of very nice coffee.

“Sherlock?”

There was string everywhere, and photos, and… a lot of them were of John. Sherlock looked up from the chair where he’d been–probably since he got back from the hospital. He looked rather grey, but immediately put on his haughty unconcerned look.

“About time you got back.”

“Yeah, well, that old Army acquaintance has a lot of issues.”

“And the ability to hack CCTV cameras?”

“That too,” John nodded solemnly and sipped his coffee. He tapped his fingers against it in the pattern Sherlock had created and insisted he practice– _we’re being listened to_.

Sherlock snorted and sat back. “I’ve been bored.”

“I can tell.” John smiled and tapped out _I love you_ , which was his addition to the codes. Sherlock’s mouth twitched up.

It took fifteen more minutes before Mycroft arrived.

“Bad traffic?” Sherlock asked idly.

“Where were you?” Mycroft snapped at John rather testily.

“Counseling.”

Mycroft snorted, “You most certainly were not.”

John smiled tightly, “Offering it, not getting it, although seeing as how some of their issues are pretty similar to mine it did have a support group element.”

Mycroft blinked at him a few times and looked annoyed, which John took to mean he didn’t have an immediate response.

“Which brings up the next point,” John said thoughtfully. “I’m going back to school.”

Sherlock looked a bit startled and Mycroft looked suspicious–but then he often looked suspicious. “That can’t be good for you, you know, Mycroft.”

“What can’t be?”

“The immediate suspicion and… those furrows between your eyebrows show a lot of pain–do you get migraines?”

“Not your concern!” snapped Mycroft.

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, “he always has.”

“Have you seen a migraine specialist?” John asked, distracting off onto a much more straightforward problem.

“I take pain medication when it’s too–”

“You haven’t seen a migraine specialist,” John said flatly. “You need to, you know.”

Mycroft got up and grabbed his umbrella. “Yes, well I am far too busy–”

“You are running away,” John continued in that same dry tone, “because neither you nor Sherlock can ever admit to weakness in any form, and it keeps you from getting the help you need–also you both need therapy for your eating disorders and family issues.”

“What?” Sherlock looked startled.

“I BEG your pardon?” Mycroft sputtered.

“You. Both. Need. Therapy.”

“Sherlock needs therapy,” Mycroft frowned, “and has generally refused–”

“–because you don’t let him have any privacy and get reports from the therapists, which is the same reason I stopped going to some of mine. Since Sherlock is better at deductions and figuring out who your spies are, I expect he notices more. In any event, it doesn’t change the fact that both of you have extremely unhealthy relationships with food, and you have untreated migraines–”

Mycroft fled, or, as he would probably put it, “left in a huff”.

Sherlock blinked a lot. “Good God, that’s a miracle! Not only did you make him leave, you never even followed up on his questions!”

“I’m serious, you know.”

“I can tell. I have to go investigate a crime scene, care to come along?”

John nodded and they went out, eventually making their way to… a crime scene, where else? There was a body and a lot of blood and… frankly, it was a mess. Anderson was wandering about taking photos and all the usual suspects were milling about.

“Difficult case?”

Sherlock’s eyes swept the scene once, “No. solved it from the photos, but no one will overhear us here.”

John grinned, “Brilliant.”

“Of course. It was Moriarty, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But you weren’t drugged and you gave the right codes…?”

“Sherlock, this is confidential in the extreme.”

“Naturally,” he snorted.

“When I was kidnapped last time? When I was drugged…”

“Yes?”

“I ended up talking to him and his partner about–”

“He has a partner?”

“Romantic partner, Sherlock,” John said quietly.

Sherlock blinked a lot. “Oh?”

“They had an argument right in front of me and… well… I started talking and sharing some of the resources I had…”

Sherlock got that oddly intent look that surfaced around Jim. “What kind of argument?”

“A private one.”

Sherlock looked disappointed.

“And that’s why I got delivered back in one piece with no demands–because I helped.”

“Ah.” Sherlock frowned, “And this time?”

“They had some serious issues–mostly misunderstandings–and, without compromising the details? Very similar to ours except… magnified?”

“Ours?” Sherlock looked him over and slowly said, “Your PTSD?”

“Among other things. I never thought I would say this but… we’re a lot alike, them and us. Just… I guess being on that side of things they have it worse?” John shrugged. “Anyway, I helped them talk through the misunderstandings and was pretty firm about them needing a real counselor–they don’t think they can go to one because of Mycroft.”

“Probably true. Of course, Mycroft can’t go to one because of his colleagues.”

John blinked, “Really?”

“Oh, yes.”

“That explains a lot, actually.”

Sherlock sighed and walked over to Lestrade, told him the solution rather matter-of-factly and with a minimum of his usual insults, and walked back. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

As they walked Sherlock said, “So you want to go to counseling school?”

“How did you…? Never mind. Yes.”

“You’ll be good at it, I think.”

“I hope so, and I hope it will help me help myself, too… but a lot of my medical patients could use a bit of counseling.”

“Is this likely to keep happening?”

“Probably? But I did tell them rather firmly that I would prefer being invited over, and if I have to be kidnapped they should just send someone to tell me who is kidnapping me–and I did rather insist they let me get my coffee first next time.” John grinned, “I was picked up on my way to the coffee, not after.”

“How barbaric,” Sherlock said very solemnly.

They went to Angelos, had a very nice meal, and walked home. It was a beautiful evening. Sherlock tensed when they got back.

“Someone’s been here.”

John looked around: it looked just like it had before to him. “Nothing looks disturbed?”

“There,” Sherlock said decisively and pulled an envelope out of… apparently nowhere as far as John could tell. Sherlock frowned at it and handed it to John. It was addressed to him?

He opened it, slowly, half expecting the slim letter to blow up or something.

“John,

Thank you for not telling Sherly the details–you may want to take the bug out of your jacket. S… Seb has been making noises about sitting down all four of us sometime: I doubt it’s a good idea, but… he does, so if you do too...

Anyway, there’s a scholarship at Tavistock and Portman, CCPE, or The Minister Centre if you want them, just apply and I think you’ll find that only licensed doctors who are disabled military and have personal counseling experience qualify.

JM”

John looked up slowly and Sherlock relaxed. “So… a good shock?”

“Yeah.” He handed Sherlock the letter.

Sherlock read it over and the expressions playing over his face were fascinating. “So I get to meet this person?” he said quietly.

“What?”

“I am intensely curious about who it is that could have so held Moriarty’s attention.”

John smirked, “A blond discharged veteran who is a hella good shot and has PTSD and anger management issues?”

Sherlock stared at him and then slowly smiled, “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

He looked back at the letter, “Maybe you could use a friend to go to school with? Study partners?”

John stared at him in stunned shock for a moment; then, “He does have experience with mad genius wrangling…”

“I’m certain you are better at it, John.”

John laughed, “I’ll suggest it… assuming my jacket didn’t already.”

“I look forward to meeting your classmate and military acquaintance–and his lover–whom I obviously have no prior knowledge of.”

“I’m sure it will be interesting–but I damn sure want coffee first.”

They went to bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the schools mentioned are real:
> 
> https://www.harleytherapy.co.uk/counselling/psychotherapy-training-courses-london.htm
> 
> https://tavistockandportman.nhs.uk/training/courses/introduction-counselling-and-psychotherapy-d12/
> 
> http://ccpe.org.uk/
> 
> http://www.minstercentre.org.uk/training_introductory_foundation.asp


End file.
